


The Quiet One

by JaeNunyah



Category: Pink Floyd, The Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaeNunyah/pseuds/JaeNunyah
Summary: These are the Ox Tales...stable, steady take on crazy crap.





	1. Family Business

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to Chapter 2 of "Uncomfortably Dumb", but makes sense without reading that one.

"How do you keep from going crazy?"

Nick finally asks the question it's taken half a bottle of Bombay Sapphire to articulate (well, a quarter, he supposes, since John's been matching him shot for shot since cracking the seal) although any answering advice his calmly collected comrade might offer was the whole reason he'd come to visit.

"Look around..." John chuckles, spreading his arms to indicate the entire bizarre basement bar. "Some might say I haven't had much luck at that."

Taxidermy sharks swim suspended from the ceiling, swaying slightly over obscure oddments. Nick's gaze sweeps across several dressmakers' dummies, garbed in outlandish outfits he surmises from sizes are John's own clothes, loosely grouped around an honest-to-god suit of plate steel armor far too small to fit the big bassist. Now that he really looks, Nick's somewhat surprised to see so many weapons. John's always come off as placidly peaceful, but in view are several swords and multiple muzzleloaders amidst antiquated array...axes, hammers, maces...piercing, pulverizing panoply.

"Damn, Ox." Nick quips, eyeing what looks suspiciously like a catapult in one corner, as his host pours them both another tot of gin. "When the shit hits the fan, I'm gonna hole up HERE. You're loaded for bear."

"Ain't no bears in there..." John intones, picking up his glass and motioning for Nick to follow suit in a toasting gesture "...and may the woods in which they shit not be OUR collective neck of them."

"I'll drink to THAT." Nick says, and does, continuing ruefully after the Bombay burns away "I smell it coming, though."

John downs his own drink then asks "Would this be general, world's-going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket crap or sad, sorry PERSONAL shit?" He mitigates mocking question with sincere, sympathetic inquiry "Are you okay? You turned up like a fugitive, mate. No foolin', I scanned your hands and clothes for blood. Thought maybe you needed a place to hide."

"I do..." Nick confesses, holding out his empty glass, which John obligingly refills "...just for a little while." He wants very much to spill this horrorshow, but hasn't had enough liquid courage to overcome guilt at telling tales out of school. Still, though, he's seen and heard a few things that lead him to believe John might understand...and won't gossip.

"That bad? Are they fighting?"

"No..." Nick sighs, amending "... not much. THAT's not even the problem. I can usually stay out of the catfights." He tosses back his shot then carries on with a grimace "Most of them are about stupid nitpicky malarkey, anyway, and I say 'Let the baby have his bottle.' to whoever's squallin' louder, but..." he pauses, awkwardly trying to delineate his distress "...this thing with Syd...I just CAN'T..."

John nods sagely "He's gettin' kinda flaky, yeah?"

"Well, YEAH." Nick wholeheartedly agrees and goes one further "He's gettin' fuckin' CREEPY. It's like I can't let my guard down around him."

"Worried he might knife you in your sleep?"

"Almost wish it WERE that." Nick blurts with a peal of nervous laughter "He's a lover, not a fighter."

"Oh?" John raises an eyebrow "Coming on to you, is he?"

"YES!" Nick is so relieved he didn't have to say it he's able to say more. "Practically every time we're alone together...and sometimes even when we're NOT...he's tried to kiss me in front of a packed house."

"Only tried?" smirks John, taking up the blue bottle to tip out two more measures "Never succeeded?"

"Of COURSE not!" Nick snaps indignantly, ducking his head slightly to admit "Well...not on the mouth, anyway."

John's half-smile becomes a crooked leer. "WHERE, then?"

"Wherever he can reach..." Nick's aware that could sound dirty, and attempts to forestall ribald remark. "It's not funny, Ox. If I wanted somebody to laugh at me I'd be talkin' to Roger." Both men swallow their shots before Nick's able to voice the query that had brought him here. "Has anything like that ever happened to you?"

"Blokes've been givin' me the eye since before I left school." Far from vexed or dismayed, John sounds perversely proud.

"If it were just the EYE, I could maybe turn a blind one, but he's like some horrid, horny hobgoblin." Nick sighs, finally feeling fortified enough to elaborate, albeit haltingly "He gets...physical. REALLY grabby sometimes...and makes offers...propositions...of a whole lot more."

John's amused expression morphs into one of almost dreamy nostalgia. "Does he creep naked into your bed saying 'pretty please'?"

"Nothing THAT awful..." Nick says, relieved, adding "I'm not sure 'please' is even in his vocabulary."

"Would you feel different if it were?" John's cool demeanor displays no trace of tease, and Nick briefly considers the question as seriously as it was posed.

"No." unbidden grin accompanies answer "Syd's such a slut. I've seen him trot the same trip on Roger and Rick, too."

"Would it be better if he only had eyes..." John smiles back curiously "...and offers...for you?"

Nick needs no rumination this time. "That might actually be WORSE."

"How so?"

"If he really, y'know, LOVED me, I don't think I could even keep workin' with him." Nick's finding John as calmly accepting of this crazy conundrum as he'd hoped...or maybe it's just the gin loosening his tongue as well as his tension. "He's already hard as hell to handle, and he's got this way of acting like turning him down's the coldest, cruelest, most mean move in the world."

There's that look of fond recollection again as John speaks with uncanny understanding "As if you could kiss away his pain? Make him whole and happy if you'd only be nice enough to give him what he wants?"

"Right With Eversharp, mate." Nick agrees, gleaning John indeed has personal experience with similar straits and erupting into a flurry of nosy questions. "How do you deal with it? Does it drive you right 'round the bend, like you don't know whether to smack him or run away...or cry? What if he DOES crawl into my bed some night? How do YOU say no?"

Pouring another pair of drinks, John answers only Nick's last inquiry with neither evasion nor embarrassment. "I don't...always."

Nick is shocked, but struggles not to show it. John might not be saying what it sounds like, but even if he IS, well, it wouldn't do to seem small-minded. "You mean you actually let him...?" he trails off.

"It's not so much LETTING as it is MANAGING." John serenely informs "Having something he wants, but only sharing it on YOUR terms...when he behaves himself and asks sweetly, and you FEEL like it, of course...gives you a fair amount of control over his hopped-up horseshit." He regards Nick intently, a hint of insinuation creeping into his voice. "I daresay your Roger knows that...and likely uses it."

Nick tries to banish images conjured by that thought with Sapphire shot before cautiously contradicting. "Roger might KNOW...prob'ly does...but says it was resorting to violence what got Syd to stop pestering HIM." He's at last reached insulated intoxication, words finally flowing as freely as the spirits have been. "I don't think I can do THAT, but I KNOW I can't...won't EVER...feel like even TRYING to manage like you do." John has accepted and even understood everything so far, he'll probably have some sympathy for this, too..."I dunno if there's any way to fix this crazy crap, of if it's even worth it. Not just Syd, but ALL of it. The whole rock-n-roll life, Ox...it's madness to chain yourself to the same three fellows. Like the most fucked-up marriage, it seems like you CAN stick with it forever at first, but then when you see the cold cream and curlers and claws it doesn't look so pretty anymore and you wonder why you ever thought it was beautiful...or ever could be again." Nick turns imploring eyes to John's "Do you ever want to chuck it? Just want to move on while you're still young enough to make a fresh start and maybe have a normal life?"

It's John's turn to be shocked, and also to seem clearly inebriated, openly appalled at Nick's suggestion. "NEVER. What we do...what we ARE...it IS beautiful, Nick. It's priceless, and precious. It's not a marriage, or if it IS, it's a really fuckin' open one..." John guffaws "...y'don't gotta be faithful an' you still gotta place to call home... it's an adopted family business. A going concern with happy returns."

"Maybe for YOU..." Nick grouses, but John's on a roll.

"Your problem is your Boss don' bend, but he don' step up, either. He knows what he's about, but ain' sure you'll toe the line if he draws it for you. Mind you, Pete c'n be a real hardcase, too, but at least he's flexible...an' forgiving."

Nick can't believe John has it so wrong. "Syd, a hardcase?" he scoffs "He's a fuckin' marshmallow...and never holds a grudge. The only hard thing about him is the obscene octopus psycho shit I ran away from today."

John's features assume a patronizing, almost paternal air as he shakes his head heavily. "Oh, my...Okay, then, THAT's your problem."

"Yeah, Syd's a shitty bandleader, so we're a shitty band." Nick retorts peevishly "You already said that."

"That's not what I said at all." John sounds wounded "What I SAID was little nutter's not the Boss, an' if YOU don' know that I guess your family's fucked an' you SHOULD cut-n-run."

Now it makes sense, and Nick knows John's right, but has no clue whether or not Syd and Rick could ever agree to accept it, too. This suddenly seems too private a matter to keep blithely bandying over Bombay, but discombobulated drummer cannot help but wonder if the Floyd family might thrive with a more dedicated, determined driver. Still, though...

"NOBODY can run a family business with Syd getting up to monkey business. I can't work with that gropey-grabby creepy-crawly kissy-face stuff, man. I just do NOT love him like that, and I'm runnin' out of ways to say so."

John offers an easy, lazy smile that relieves Nick of any worry their brief disagreement might've offended. "Well, if you're truly concerned for your virtue but can't say 'no' hard enough, you need a Bixby Acoustic."

That's a brand-name new to Nick, who bursts into laughter to envision himself as Quickdraw McGraw whacking cartoon Syd with an animated guitar.

["El Ka-BONG!"]

"I've never heard of a Bixby Acoustic. Do I play it for him, or hit him with it?" Nick giggles.

John over-enunciates, articulating crisply as he reaches behind the bar. "Bitch...Be...Cool...Stick."

The object he hands to Nick is as oddly unfamiliar as the term. A heavy, metal wand nearly as long as his arm between rubberized handle and pronged tip, integrated with button, knob and battery pack. Painted along the length of one side in silver gothic script are the words: BITCH, BE COOL! It obviously does something, and although Nick's curious he's also a bit afraid to find out what.

"What's it for?"

John takes it back, makes a twiddling adjustment, thumbs the button and casually touches the tip to the tail of a sleeping cat atop nearby barstool. The wand gives a cracklesnap zap and the cat utters a startled yowl before offering a baleful, vengeful glare and leaping to the floor to stalk away.

"That was the lowest setting. On higher ones, it's for makin' little nutter keep sticky paws to himself."

Nick can neither help a hearty cackle nor a questing probe. "Have YOU ever used it...for THAT?"

"A time or six." John cheerfully acknowledges.

"Does it work?"

"Not always." John admits "Sometimes he likes it. Anyway, he's not scared of it anymore." He holds the cattle prod's handle back toward Nick. "Here. All yours, with my compliments." He offers generously, grinning gleefully. "You need it way more than I do."

Nick doubles over in howling, helpless hilarity for a moment before managing to hold out both palms, splayed fingers waving away the proffered gift. "Oh, NO...Thanks, Ox, but I COULDN'T..."

"Couldn' use it?" asks John "It's easy, an' it won' hurt him...much."

"Couldn't KEEP it." Nick chortles "If I brought something like THAT home, it'd fall into Roger's hands, and then God help us all."


	2. Mum and Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation between the lines..."We don't discuss that sort of thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided Jon deserves his own arc. This scene takes place the day after Chapter 3 of "How Can You Do It Alone".

"Keith tells there was one hell of a party here yesterday." John flops down in ungainly yet somehow graceful sprawl onto padded chaise, watching Pete uncapping bottles at the bar.

[If he only knew...too bad he doesn't want to.] "Tells WHO?" Pete asks archly, approaching to offer Ox a Guinness, which he gratefully accepts.

"Me." utters John tersely, adding after a long drink "Alone."

[Ooh, under what circumstances? Too bad he won't share.] Pete imbibes a healthy swallow of his own before settling into easy chair beside chaise. "I assure you there was NOT a hoedown houseful. This may be another instance of our Keefy's propensity for hyperbole. What EXACTLY did he say?"

John recollects clearly, but doesn't deign to repeat Moonie's dirty details. Pete was there, and will know what he means. "He said YOU put him up to it."

"Did he have any complaints?" Catching-up conversation with Keith after departure of guests had led Pete to believe a good time was had by all..

"He said 'the mean one' slapped his face."

"Oh, what a brat!" Pete huffs "That was another occasion entirely, and he absolutely deserved it. YOU know how handsy he can get..." [And certainly indulge him more than any of us.] "...and he should've known better than to try it on...Him."

"Yeahwell..." John mutters, unsure how to address this, but needing some kind of answer "Keith says he hit YOU, too."

"THAT was entirely consensual." Pete wonders if John will take the bait. "Invited, even."

John doesn't want to know. "I don't think little nutter's a good influence on our boy." [Or biting beanpole on YOU.] "What are you playing at, messing about with these Floyd fellows?"

Pete extends a mockingly introductory handshaking gesture "Hello, Pot, my name is Kettle. Didn't YOU counsel their steady one?"

"That's different." John realizes as he says so there's a dozen ways Pete can argue it's NOT, really, and hopes he won't. "They're a mess, aren't they?"

"They have such potential." Pete muses dreamily.

John has his doubts, and can't help but voice them. "They're crashing hard."

"We can help. Keefy DID, I think." Pete winks conspiratorially "Don't worry about our boy, his personality's FAR stronger than little nutter's. You said steady one listened and learned, too, yes?"

"Seemed like it." John allows "He'll accept The New Boss."

[So will I.] "The question mark is the quiet one. He's got something going on with little nutter and may flake off with him when the hard rain falls."

"Well, so what? Why the fuck do we need to get involved, anyway?"

"Because they're our comrades in arms...our brothers in the trenches, so to speak. They're navigating similar terrain, have untapped brilliance, and we should show them smoother paths, if we ever hope to have any worthy peers."

[Ugh, not again. He's got it bad. Another austere, aloof visionary frostybox who'll never give him the time of day. More frustrated, unrequited pining...he does write great love songs when he's like this, though.] "Just be careful." Ox admonishes, relieved it's a personal attraction and not a mad Machiavellian scheme to crash competitors by devious design.

"I know what I'm doing." Pete proclaims. [Even when I'm in love.]

"Not sure THEY do, or if we should be bothering."

"You do...or don't...whatever YOU like." Steepling fingers beneath chin, Pete leans forward to regard John loftily, asking "What harm can it do to TRY...and maybe have a little fun in the process?"

"Oh, don't sit like that." Ox grouses. "Makes me feel like I'm on an analyst's couch. I'm not the one who needs a headshrinker, y'know."

Pete's sincere gaze shifts to fey flirtation, and his posture to mockery of femininity, crossing one thigh over the other and pointing the toe of his boot while flicking fluid wrist. "Would you rather I sit like THIS?"

"That's not cute at all." John snorts derisively. "You need to take lessons from Keith."


	3. Sapphire Sacrament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Entwistle absolves Poor Richard's imagined sins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene also ties into "Richard The First".

"Are you going to drink that?" John had poured Sapphire shot almost half an hour ago, and hands are still folded around it, eyes dolefully downcast.

"Not sure if I should..." Rick sighs, too shy to regard his host's calm countenance but very much in need of his counsel.

[Damn it, why do I always get stuck with this?] "Did Pete tell you to come talk to me?"

"NO!" Startled gaze meets his own, and honest admission erupts. "I don't talk to him...I'm scared to death of him...Nick did."

[Did he? Well, what worked with unscrewing Mason jar is far from the Wright stuff...better not crack jokes here...this one's fragile. '...scared to death...', hmm? Wonder if Pete would be chuffed or chagrined to learn that...probably already knows.] "Why?"

"He said you had some wise things to say about... family."

"Drink up." John insists "C'mon, take it like medicine." He watches Rick obey, placing empty glass onto tabletop as color blooms into his cheeks after swallowing stiff shot. [My, he's easily led.] "So, what's the trouble?"

Rick looks down at knotted fingers fretfully entwined. "We're abandoning him. That's not right...is it? If we're a family...like you told Nick...aren't we supposed to stick together?"

"Seems to me he's abandoned YOU." John suggests "Not holding up his end of the bargain, yeah?"

"But he CAN'T..." Rick dolorously defends, although there IS no bargain, and never was.

"An' whose fault is THAT?"

"Well..." Rick doesn't know, really. Seems childish to blame God. "I think it's the drugs."

"I don't." John decisively declares. "Lots of people take all sorts of screwy shit and keep on working just fine...in some rare cases, better, even." 

"But he needs help...and nobody's trying." [Not even me...don't know how.] "We can't be bothered to pick him up for gigs anymore since Dave came along. We're just cutting him loose, and not telling him why or giving him a chance to get better."

John has no doubt SOMEbody tried. Their clever one is a fierce problem-solver, but sometimes slicing the Gordian Knot only leaves frazzled snippets too tattered to reweave. "How do YOU like the new fellow?" Ox elects not to share his opinion that little nutter hasn't much hope of getting better. [Best not say 'little nutter', either. '...something going on...' between those two, Pete had insinuatingly imparted. What IS his fucking name? Never bothered to learn it...guess I SHOULD, since he's playmates with Keith. Shan't mention THAT, either...might've only been a one-off, anyhow. Pete and his devious designs...]

"He's nice..." Rick knows what a weak word that is and tries to clarify without letting on how much guilt he carries to have recently made several direct comparisons wherein Syd comes up short. "...friendly, confident and talented."

Finding it extremely revealing which attributes were mentioned first, John inquires after trait that matters most, considering Floyd family's tenuous position. "Reliable?"

"I guess..." Rick allows "...but he argues with Roger, so..." he spreads his hands in a gesture of futility "...it doesn't matter what I think."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Roger does." utters Rick miserably "And He thinks HE'S in charge now, so it's toe the line or walk the plank."

"Who do YOU think should be in charge?"

[Nick was right...he's so kind and understanding...asked more about what I want in five minutes than anybody else has...ever.] "Why does one man HAVE to be? Why can't we all just work together and make decisions as a group? Some bands do..."

"For that to work, everybody has to be equally determined and inspired." John puts this to him as gently as he's able "Are you prepared to defend your opinions and stand up for yourself against critical opposition?"

"You don't know HOW critical...how cruel...He can be." As he says it, Rick supposes John might, after all. Pete exhibits that same terrifying evil-genius gleam.

"Does he ignore your contributions? Belittle your concerns?" [How much do you bring to the proverbial table, anyway, sweet one?]

"Not exactly..." Rick grudgingly acknowledges "...but He doesn't ASK what I think and He's impossible to talk to. He seems so...angry all the time...like He's just WAITING for somebody to say something stupid so He can prove how much smarter He is."

"It can be hard to ask." John reaches out, almost wishing he could give the poor boy a hug, but settles instead for soft squeeze of shoulder becoming pats he hopes come off as comforting and not patronizing. "Especially since it could lead to mockery or rejection. You understand that, don't you?"

[Is this a pass? Do I want it to be? Ohhh, I bet he'd be such a considerate kisser...might grow intense once he gets excited, though. Stop it! What the hell is wrong with me?] "What are you saying?" Rick nervously fishes.

John steps slightly away, ceasing contact but maintaining kindly expression. [Oh, shit, he thinks I'm hitting on him. What might THAT be like? Not a chance, he's too delicate...too desperate. Besides, I'd never hear the end of it if...when...Pete found out.] "Maybe he doesn't mean to be cruel. Maybe he's afraid of fucking up and doesn't know what to say...just the same as you."

"ROGER, afraid?" Rick scoffs incredulously. "Not bloody likely. He doesn't NEED to ask, and ALWAYS knows what to say. He just DOES whatever he wants."

"How do you know?" Ox lets that question sink in before adding another "What is it you're afraid to do?"

"Decide." Rick confesses. "How can I choose?"

"What's the major hangup?"

Rick heaves a rueful sigh. "I don't know..." He does, but isn't sure it's a safe subject, so strives for circumspection. "Sometimes I feel like Roger really COULD make us great, but then it seems like Syd needs me more...like I'd be a heartless bastard not to stay with him...since nobody else will."

"Has he asked you to?"

Fleeting echo entreats ["Would you run away with me, Richard?"], and Rick supresses sensation of welling weep. "Sort of..."

"And did you 'sort of' offer any rash promises?" John asks, picking up the blue bottle. [Not sure I can advise him to go back on his word.]

"No." This makes Rick feel worse. "I wasn't sure he meant it."

"That's very intelligent of you."

John's simple compliment is a balm upon Rick's troubled soul, but he nonetheless begins to cry as another shot of gin is placed before him, doubly thankful that the sight of his tears has not shifted Ox's serene expression to either awkwardness or amusement.

"What could you do for him...what help could you give...if you DID quit your job and family just because he's not fit for honest work?"

"I love him." Rick hadn't meant to say that, and downs his second shot far more eagerly than he had his first, mostly as an excuse to look away. Bolstered by Bombay burn, furtive peeks prove placid presence remains unruffled.

"Is that enough?"

[He might be talking about the gin, but...] "It hasn't been." 

"Do you suppose he loves you?"

"He says so..." Rick woefully whispers "...sometimes."

[Apparently neither often nor sincerely.] "Is that enough for YOU?"

Rick is moved beyond words, wrapped in rapt reverence. [Nick said: "He makes you think about...and drink...the hard stuff, but it's like he really cares and wants to help." Too right. Why can't WE have a guy like this?] "No." he finally manages, astonished at the calm resolve with which his choice manifests. "It's not. The music matters more." 

John decides a spot of unsolicited leverage won't go amiss here, and also knows weak-willed people-pleasers will often undertake endeavors as 'favors' they wouldn't otherwise consider. "Will you do one thing for me?"

Rick nods without asking what, which John finds mildly worrisome. [The way he's looking at me, I could probably demand his firstborn child. Well, that makes what I have to say all the more important.] "You need to spread your love around. Just a little is enough, but YOU gotta be the one to reach out once in a while."

"What if they don't care?" Rick meekly inquires.

"Sometimes they won't. That's life." is Ox's stern reminder "If you let that stop you from trying, you'll stay lonely. Sometimes they will, maybe when you least expect it, and love grows from there."

"SOME people don't WANT love." Rick bitterly opines.

"Now, that's not true." John rebukes "It just means different things to different people. Cut your Roger some slack, okay?"

[What's this 'your' business? Oh, yeah, they've got one of their own.] "I'll try." Rick smiles hesitantly "He doesn't make it easy, though."

[Might be you could make it easier for HIM...] John stifles a chuckle at the very idea. [No, that seems to be Pete's pet project. Wonder what's going on THERE? He'd be perversely delighted to spill deviant details if I asked...but I won't.] "Show the new guy some love, too. What's his name? Daniel?"

"David." Rick quietly corrects.

"Knew it was some biblical 'D'...Anyway, if you want him to stick around, maybe make him feel welcome. Hold his hand through the zoo, just until he knows which animals are like to bite and which enclosures aren't safe."

[Dave doesn't need my help...would he let me hold his hand?] "I will." Rick promises, nearly overwhelmed with gratitude. "Thank you, John. Nobody's ever listened to me like you have, or helped as much." He's almost ashamed to voice final concern, but can't bite it back. "You won't talk about this...about me...to anyone? Please?"

"Don't worry." John speaks reassuringly. "Hey, everybody calls me The Quiet One." [Will he catch that's not an actual answer? I'd have to admit I WILL tell Pete...if he asks.]

Rick laughs lightly, relieved. "Me, too."


	4. Goodnight, Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Loon has been banished. Ox tucks him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ties into "How Can You Do It Alone". Moonie eavesdropped on conversation in Chapter 8 "Call The Calls".

"C'mon, Daddy, be a sport and let me out."

"Not this time, Keith." John stands resolutely against the door, taking his assignment seriously in the face of Moonie's puckish plea. "Pete's pretty peeved....and don't call me 'Daddy'. That's creepy."

"Pete lets me call him 'Mum'."

"Yeahwell..." Ox declares "Pete takes a lot of things I don't."

"Yeah, WELL..." Moonie mimics "You GIVE a lot of things he doesn't." Attempt at stolen smooch lands on John's chin rather than his mouth. "What will you give me NOW if I stay locked up like a good little criminal?"

"If you behave yourself, I WON'T give you a spanking."

"Ooh, now I WANT you to. How naughty must I act to get one?"

John isn't in the mood. "Cut it out, little Loon. You don't want ME vexed with you, too, do you?"

"No." Keith tries for contrition, but laughter lurks within limpid look. "I'm sorry, Papa Bear." he sighs "It's not FAIR, being banished just when the party's getting started. Monkey's allowed to mingle, and he's drunker than me."

This is not the first time John's heard mocking moniker applied, although never (yet) when Daltrey's around to hear. He's been loath to ask Pete what it's about, but curiosity's getting the better of him now. "Where'd this 'Monkey' thing come from, anyway? It doesn't sound very friendly."

"You won't like it." Keith's singsong reply and taunting expression bring a scowl to John's face as he susses the origin, but not quite the meaning, of nasty new nickname.

[He's right, I don't. The OTHER Roger may have persuaded Pete HE has stronger claim to that name. Why 'Monkey', though?] "Does it have something to do with Pete being an organ grinder?"

Moonie giggles "They're grinding organs, all right."

"I bet they're NOT." Ox scoffs "Dunno if I've EVER met a colder fish than THAT one."

Keith confides "Pete gets him hot."

"How the hell do YOU know?" John watches bratty bandmate bounce into bed and burrow beneath blankets before peeking playfully.

"If I tell you, you have to get under covers with me."

"I don't like ultimatums, Keith." John well knows it's unwise to give an inch unless also inclined toward the proverbial mile. Moonie possesses as much ability to weaken resolve as he does to try patience.

"I don't like old tomatoes, either." Keith smirks "But if I had some now, I'd go chuck 'em right at Mum's snooty friends."

Of this John has no doubt. "You aren't getting out of this room, Mister Moon." He folds his arms sternly. "In fact, you'd better stay right there in bed. Party's over for you."

"Doesn't have to be..." Keith endearingly appeals with sweet smile "...if you climb in. Pretty please?"

"Not with a houseful of society bitches and music critics outside the door."

"Door's locked." Moonie invitingly pats the mattress next to his reclining form.

"Pete has a key." John reminds him, tempted but reluctant to reward bad behavior.

"So? Mum's busy showing off and doesn't want to see me...but you do, don'cha? Pleeeeze, John? I promise I'll be really nice and really quiet."

"No. I mean it this time." John has had to take such hardline stance before, and knows Keith cannot mistake no-nonsense refusal. "Stop pestering."

Moonie pouts prettily, but obeys. "Will you at least come sit down and tell me a story? No silly buggers, I swear." He holds up two fingers in solemn gesture "Scout's honor."

"You were never a Scout."

"I dressed up like one once...maybe it was a Girl Guide...I forget which."

John can't help but grin. Funny fellow's incorrigible, but ingratiatingly infectious. Still... "Keep sticky paws to yourself, okay?"

"If I do, they're likely to get even stickier."

"None of THAT, either." Ox affectionately admonishes "If you want me to stay."

"I thought you like to watch..." Keith flutters flirty lashes as John sits down on the edge of the bed.

"I thought you wanted a story?"

"Maybe YOU do...?" offers Moonie "You asked HOW I know but not WHAT I know. I'll tell you both, if you wanna hear some juicy gossip."

[Do I? Pete wants me to ask SO badly, but that is NOT gonna happen. Keith doesn't have any...intimate...information. Even if he does, he won't be raking, rating and ranking reaction like a goddamned Grand High Inquisitor.] "Pete says the...beating...you told me about was only a game."

"Maybe so..." Keith allows impishly "...but I heard something on the phone that sure wasn't."

"Neither one noticed you pick up another line?" incredulously inquires Ox "Bollocks!"

"Well, Mum left the bar phone off the hook and staggered off to finish..." little Loon leers "...talking...in his bedroom. I got nosy, and thirsty, too. Drank the rest of his fancy stuff while him-n-Mister Meanie went at it. Like, full-on huffing and puffing."

[I've heard Pete fake horny noises...rather convincingly...perhaps overheard occasion demonstrated devious, deviant duplicity.]

As if reading his thoughts, Keith carries on. "Mum might've been a put-on, but does HE strike you as the phony-groan-y type?"

John had never considered that, but immediately agrees. [Damn it, OUR Roger is 'Roger'. I'm not caving to this 'Monkey' business. If he's sticking around, he can be Waters. Pete's a stalwart swimmer, makes sense he craves challenging current.] "What did you hear?"

"Love." Keith says simply, suddenly seeming subdued, gazing up at John with mournfully melting chocolate eyes. "What if Mum loves him more than us and runs away? We can't do it alone."

John chuckles quietly "Pete's not gonna leave us, you loony lad. We're in this forever."

"Nothing's forever." protests Moonie with a yawn as John's indulgent muss of his hair becomes smoothing stroke.

"We are."

"You can't promise that." Keith drowsily detracts "We have to die sometime."

"If anybody figures out how not to, it'll be Pete." Ox opines "But I can promise..." He leans down to drop a soft kiss atop sleepy head "...'til death do us part."


	5. Mum On Mum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncharacteristically shocked, John seeks advice, severely testing Pete's self-control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct sequel to Chapter 2 of "Fiddle About". Read that one if you want the dirty details, for John won't share them here.

John listens through the door and hears faint piano chords, knowing that Pete travels everywhere with at least one keyboard but that he only PLAYS late at night in a strange place if he's alone. [Don't have a key to his room, here, but even if I DID...] He can't suppress horrified shudder, nearly hyperventilating in the hallway with uncharacteristic shock and indignation. He might NEVER be able to enter without knocking again, after what he's just seen, and isn't sure if he should risk a rap, although Pete is the only man who might offer sensible solace. [He also might laugh his arse off...]

Pete immediately cuts power to his instrument and shoves it aside to arise at the sound of John's secret knock. Hurrying to the door, he hopes no dire disaster has come to roost but girds to cope if it has. [What fresh Hell is THIS?]

John can tell from first glance into baleful, bleary eyes that Pete's been drinking. [What ELSE is new?]

Pete can tell from first glance at anxious expression that John isn't himself. Swinging open the door, he ushers Ox inside and closes it behind him before quietly inquiring "Keefy?"

"He's all right." John assures, wildly darting perception sussing that they have the suite to themselves before exhaling a long, quavering sigh. "For now."

Pete notes John's heavy hands curling into fists and the tense set of broad shoulders. "You're not."

"No." John admits "I need to talk to you."

Pete strives to recollect if, in all their long association, he has ever heard John utter the words 'I need' in any context. Whatever's just happened, it's shaken their steady one to the core, and his agile mind races to a dozen dastardly possibilities from what little information he has. None of the terrors he can conceive seem likely, but who the fuck KNOWS with Keith? "What did he do to you?"

"You have to promise not to laugh."

[This is the fourth time Ox has ever invoked particular restriction before confession. First occasion...well...I had no urge to. Wasn't funny...had happened to me, too, and earned only commiserative sympathy. Second and third were challenging in respective ways, but...I managed to keep my promise, and shall this time, too.] "Of course, John." Pete solemnly avows. "I promise. Now spill it." He approaches the room's minibar and rummages inside, ruminating that he's already depleted all the cognac and brandy, but that John's a gin man, anyway...when he goes for the hard stuff. "Looks like you could use a stiff one."

"Don't SAY shit like that!" John snaps "You always gotta treat everything like a dirty joke, huh? Well, it's NOT FUCKING FUNNY, and if you're gonna do the whole Evil Genius bit, I'm not gonna tell you."

Vituperative vehemence is disturbingly unlike Ox. Pete doesn't take it personally, but neither will he quail in the face of it. "Can't shut off the 'genius', but shall try, for your sake, to temporarily tone down the 'evil'. That'll have to be good enough."

John supposes it will, and also that a drink...or several...is definitely in order. "Gimme the Bombay, and the Beefeater's, too."

Pete flips him both little bottles, noting from deft midair snagging that John is stone-cold sober. [Should probably let the anesthesia take effect before I start pulling teeth.] He watches wordlessly, waiting, as John uncaps and imbibes entirety of Sapphire spirits, casting empty blue bottle dispiritedly onto carpet at his feet before turning the full one over and over between thick fingers.

[He'll ask the right questions. He always does.] John has no idea how to begin, and awaits Pete's keen inquiry to direct the description of his deep distress. He customarily diverts or denies pensive, pontificating probes, but is grateful in this harrowing situation for the relentlessly interrogative interest of intelligently insightful friend.

[Usually stonewalls and calls me 'nosy', but he WANTS to be asked now so he doesn't have to decide what to tell.] "Went too far this time, did he?"

"I don't know..." John confesses confusion "...maybe I'm being uptight about it..."

"YOU, uptight? I doubt that." assuages Pete "You're the most broad-minded, tolerant man I know, and if YOU'RE offended it must have been very offensive, indeed." He follows flattery with leading question "Was it something he proposed, or something he actually did?"

"Dunno WHAT he actually did...or HOW...don't want to..." emerges awkwardly as John breaks the seal on second mini-gin but does not yet drink. "What I SAW, though..."

Pete knows they've all borne witness to Keith's perverse parading, and surmises recent revelation must have somehow hit especially close to home for John to be taking it so hard. "Did you catch him with your wife?"

"Worse."

"Your dog?"

Pete has sworn not to laugh, but John now does, gulping down bitty bottle of Beefeater's before berating "Don't be disgusting. Besides, dogs aren't allowed here."

"Since when has what's verboten...OR what's disgusting...EVER stopped Our Boy?" Pete is compelled to comment, asking as gently as he's able while burning with prurient curiosity. "What WAS he doing?"

"My mother!" John squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could black out the image from inward one. [He'll laugh now...]

Pete literally bites his tongue hard enough to feel flesh rend and to taste blood before he swallows it along with looming laughter. [How is that 'worse'? Perhaps wives have already been shared...better not go there...Keefy'll tell me if I ask HIM.] "How much did you see?"

"I'm not telling you THAT." John growls, adding "Creep." as he recollects several 'yer mum' jokes Pete has cracked over the years which now take on extremely unpleasant overtones. [Won't give him anything to get off on...]

"Well, then, why are you here?" Pete lets the slur slide, but needs to know what befuddled bandmate wants from him.

It's difficult for John to seek intimate advice, but Pete's has helped on previous occasions he's dared to share sensitive subjects. "What would you do...how would you feel...if it were YOUR mother?"

"I'll tell you something for nothing..." Pete opens with favorite phrase preceding bald disclosure "I wouldn't be surprised, or upset, either. I'd likely just call them both sluts and walk away." He can't resist... "What did YOU do?"

"Pretty much that." John sighs, strangely relieved, acknowledging "I WAS surprised...and upset, though."

"So they both know you saw...everything...and heard your condemnation?"

"Yeah." Here is the heart of the matter, which John had hoped Pete would perceptively pinpoint and understand without overt explanation, as he so often does. "Am I making too much of it?"

"Yes." Pete decisively declares. "They're both grown, free to make their own choices, and neither belongs...exclusively...to you. Although I can certainly empathize with the ick factor, I don't believe either intended to shock or hurt you."

"Keith might've." This has been John's major concern all along. "They were doing it in MY room, but I don't think SHE knew that."

Pete once more exerts considerable willpower to mute merry mirth, howling horselaugh hilarity in his head hidden behind kindly consideration upon his face. "Are you sure HE did? He's made that mistake before..."

"I know..." Ox allows "...but..." he trails off, unsure how to articulate anxiety.

[Oh! He's afraid Keefy might let Queenie in on secrets he hasn't even deigned to discuss with ME...His trouble's not over what they're doing, but terror of what they might pillow-talk behind his back.] "I don't know...exactly...what's going on, but I can say with confidence that they both love you and wouldn't want you worried." Pete no longer longs to laugh, but cannot curtail a smile while restraining ribald quip. [If they get married, He'll be YOUR Daddy.] "Keefy's an irrepressible scamp...walking id, thou knowst...but I'm sure she's just as mortified as you are."

"She sure didn't show it." John grumbles, biting back uncomfortable utterance. [She showed everything ELSE.]

"You play your emotional cards close to the richly embroidered vest, yourself." Pete reminds him with raised eyebrows above deeply delving gaze. "Now I see where you get it."


	6. Still Waters Run Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Keith was a pain in the ass, but he was also a constant joy." is a direct quote from Townshend's autobiography WHO I AM.

"Am I to infer from last week's reappearance of the ring that you two at least had a chance to...make up?" Voice thickened but not quite yet slurred, Pete's expression displays desperately devious glitter John has come to recognize as razor's edge between maudlin and malicious.

"We never fought." [He's really gonna pry about this NOW?] John downs dregs of bloody Bordeaux before angling empty glass for replenishment.

Both men have been drinking heavily, and although the wine has flowed like water no tears have fallen. Pete had banished all other souls from their sight ["Begone, you ghouls!"] and now can't help but ponder where Keith's might be.

"Ah, but you WERE..." He fills Ox's goblet as well as his field of vision "...estranged, shall we say?"

[We will NOT say...] "Don't do this." John warns wearily. "Not today."

"Do what? Encourage one dear friend to share his feelings regarding the passing of another? I loved him too, you know."

[Maybe, but you've already achieved past tense. It's still 'love' in the now for me.] John holds his tongue as well as Pete does his liquor, but each now edges away from realm of restraint.

"Besides..." Pete continues as John keeps quiet. "...there may not be a tomorrow."

"You mean for the band?" [Just as well. We'd seem a limping, broken thing without Keith's crash and thump. Perhaps it's time to hang up this rock-n-roll ride and go be a good, honest bass man. Clinton and Collins would welcome me aboard The Mothership...their family's loving, too, and so sprawling that my private business could STAY that way, for a change.]

"Suppose so, especially since I'm intending to emulate Our Boy's last trick, and am only telling you because I know you won't talk." Knocking back another noisy gulp, Pete flicks brutal barb. "Not even to save a life."

Casual cruelty spurs Ox to cold retort. "You're a monster."

"Everybody knows that." Pete proclaims, suddenly, shockingly, bursting into wracking sobs. "He'll be missed far more than I will." He turns away tormented visage, leaving John to stare incredulously at shaking shoulders over which waft woeful words. "Keefy was a pain in the ass, but he was also a constant joy. Nobody loves me that way...wholeheartedly for myself...certainly not you...and if he could pack it in despite such unconditional devotion, what fucking right have I to inflict insufferable monstrosity one day longer?"

[How does he manage to make everything about him? Still, though, can't let him keep thinking...] "Keith didn't kill himself."

"He DID!" Features twisted into a snarl, eyes copiously streaming, Pete whirls to rake John with vicious vehemence. "Not caring about living is the same as wanting to die. This..." he glares at the bottle in one white-knuckled hand "...won't do me in fast enough. I've got a gun, and...once you leave me for the last time...the whole place to myself." He's not getting the reaction he wants and isn't sure if he envies or despises Ox's calm countenance. "Go on, then, get out! You didn't care enough to save him. Why should I expect you'd try to stop me?"

That tears it. Savage straw breaks the Ox's back, spears his heart and shatters his composure. "NOBODY could stop you from ANYTHING, because you just know EVERYTHING, huh? Well, you're WRONG about Keith. He DIDN'T want to die. He said so..." [Wants to see me cry? Wants dirty details so bad he'll threaten suicide to get them? Fine. Can't hold it back anymore, anyway.] "...when he begged me to take back his ring. He promised..." John chokes, nearly strangling on sorrowful statement "...but I guess it was too late." 

Sight and sound of John's uncharacteristically naked emotion helps Pete rein in his own. Placing bottle atop bar with one hand while reaching to pluck the glass from Ox's before plonking it down beside, he opens his arms and commands "Come here.", conveying confidence he does not feel. [He might rather hit me than hug me, and I'll absolutely deserve it if he does.]

"I did try..." John sobs, collapsing into Pete's embrace and lowering heavy head to weep against corded cables between neck and shoulder "...but I failed."

Wrapping arms around Ox's broad back, Pete strives to shift the burden to his own. "No, I did. You loved him like he needed and truly wanted him to GET better, I just pushed him to BEHAVE better for my own selfish sake. I drove him to it, and the world will be a much happier place without my horrid pushing and pulling."

[He's STILL trying to turn this into fishing for sympathy, but I can't lose them both.] "It wasn't suicide." John insists again, continuing to cry as Pete holds him close. "Keith's a lot of things, but never a coward...and neither are you."

"I think I am." Pete admits. "Can't translate One Note so the world can understand. Lifehouse is becoming a deathhouse, and I can't Face The Face in the mirror without seeing a joke...a fraud...a failure."

[There he goes with this lofty malarkey again. No wonder the world can't understand, it doesn't make any fucking sense to anybody but him.] "Pete..." Ox draws back to meet anguished gaze "...everybody knows what a genius you are."

"Oh, yes." is bitterly bitten "When I blow my brilliant brains all over the wainscoting in a technicolor Rorschach blot there will be much half-assed analysis as to what I might have meant, but nobody gives the proverbial rodent's hindquarters when I try to say so NOW." Pete mawkishly, morosely mopes "Sure, there'll be some high-concept mourning for the mind, but nobody'll miss the man."

"I would." John avows, enfolding Pete tightly against him and murmuring into his ear. "The man I know would never cop out."

Ox's strong arms and heated breath bring back memories of blood-thumping youth, prompting Pete's insinuating inquiry "What would you miss most about me?"

"The way you figure things out." emerges unbidden, but John knows it's exactly what he means to say as he adds "Watching you go after what you want, and cheering when you nail it."

"Remember when we figured things out together?" Pete breathes hotly, turning up his lips only to be rebuffed with a stiffening entirely unlike the sort he's intended to arouse as John pulls away from his advance.

"That was kid stuff, Pete." [How could he possibly think I'd want...?] "Stop it."

Rejection makes Pete snap like a wounded animal. "Oh, and I suppose what you had going on with Keith was SO mature?"

"What we have is REAL!" John howls, hurting, hurling harshness hatefully "You wonder why I wouldn't tell you? Well, THIS, right here, is what I KNEW would happen. You'd cheapen it...turn it to your own advantage or get off on it somehow. Of COURSE nobody can love you the way you want, coz nobody can fucking UNDERSTAND what you want."

Pete frosts so quickly and entirely that John is taken aback at how abruptly he turns and pours himself a fresh measure of old red, downing entire glass before returning rueful regard to intone, seemingly speaking to himself. "Guess there IS one more man I should talk to before punching out. Roger might understand."

"Want me to call him for you?" John offers, confused at the wide-eyed delight those words evoke.

"You'd DO that?" Pete sparkles, surprised. "Didn't think you liked him...or knew how to reach him."

[Oh, HIM...] John shudders. "You KNOW I don't. Thought you meant-"

"Monkey?" Pete jeers "What the fuck does HE know...or care...about ANYTHING?"

"Stop calling him that." implores Ox. "It's mean."

"So what?" is Pete's insouciant reply. "He's got no shame and doesn't give a damn...when he pays any attention at all." Striding across the room to flop down into chair beside telephone table, he flips dismissive wrist. "G'way, son, you bother me. You're freed from the monster's clutches. Go dance alone to Keefy's Four Fops records and forget about me. I shall summon somebody who gets it."

John's feelings are bruised enough for him to give as he's been getting. "You really think that Frigid-Derriere cares about you?"

"Yes, actually." Pete smiles icily "More than you do. Now get lost, so grown-ups can talk."

"What the fuck do you see in him?" John's inebriation and irritation combine to impel inquiry. "He's horrible."

"Well, you called me a monster, so it must take one to know one." Pete offers impatient shooing gesture.

"I'm sorry." John blurts "Please don't go to him. He won't stop you, he'll load the goddamn gun FOR you then laugh to watch you die."

"Shows what you know." [How much do I know? Could he be right? No...] "Our love is real, too."

[Bluffing? Wishful thinking? Keith did say he heard it, though...] "Try him, then. I bet he won't come."

"I will take that bet." Pete gambles his very life as he reaches for receiver and punches buttons.

John folds his arms and watches, hearing only Pete's side of the conversation.

"It's me...So, you've heard?...Seventeen kinds of shitshow...Well, heartbroken and lonesome, since you ask." Furious glare flicks toward John as Pete replies to unheard query "Might as well be...Can you come over?...Yeah, quite a lot, and likely much more before the day is out...No...Yes...Promise?...Okay, see you soon." Long pause precedes "I love you." before handset is settled and Pete stands as if entire issue likewise has been.

John isn't fooled. "You said that last after he hung up."

Pete doesn't bother denying. "All right, I did, but he IS coming, so I win."

"Win WHAT?" Ox asks anxiously "We never set stakes."

"If I'm still alive and he's with me this time tomorrow, you have to accept him as family." Pete extends hand, hoping John will clasp it and agree.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean no more suspicious side-eye glaring. He thinks you're sexually possessive of me, you know, and the way you act doesn't help."

John growls indignantly "Why would he think THAT?"

"Maybe YOU should ask him what he thinks." precedes Pete's final word on the subject. "He always tells the truth."

"Okay." John avows, shaking Pete's hand while searching his eyes. "If he's still here tomorrow I promise I'll talk to him. I hope you know what you're doing."


	7. Apology Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is glad to lose a bet...

[Wow, would never have thought...Pete must have got him drunk. Looks like they passed out in the middle of...something.]

Any assumption alcohol had motivated Waters into this unexpectedly tender tableau is abruptly averted as John's presence in the doorway provokes arresting alertness. Eyes that had been weary and wary upon arrival are now calm and clear upon awakening.

"Wait?" Whispered plea halts John in the act of turning away, and he is touched to behold the overt affection with which Waters gently disentangles from Pete's unconscious, unclad form, arising from the bed still fully dressed.

"What?" [He slept with his boots on?] Both briefly regard Pete in stripped, slumbering sprawl before apologetic utterance as they exit the room together, closing the door quietly behind them.

"Sorry you had to see that."

"Seen it before." John tersely admits, following Waters into the kitchen.

"Me, asleep at the switch? No, you HAVEN'T." Proceeding to put the kettle on with clear confidence in his actions, a tinge of trepidation nonetheless touches his voice. "I know how it looks, but I swear I WAS watching out for him. I didn't drink..."

[Does he know I'd been thinking that?]

"...and he didn't, any MORE, either."

[THAT's practically a miracle.] John surmises Pete's paramour has something weighing upon his narrow chest. "What are you getting at?"

Abandoning distracting domesticity, Waters ceases toying with teacups in favor of forthright declaration. "No advantage was taken."

"You can't rape the willing." John's sympathetic snort is very nearly a laugh, but the other man evidently needs avowal acknowledged seriously.

"You're right, I can't, but some men do. Imposing upon the impaired will never happen."

[Not only does he care about Pete, it matters to him what I think.] "He wasn't as drunk as he pretended."

"I know he lies when it suits him." Pained, penetrating gaze reveals continued concern. "Was he lying when he told me you believed I'd encourage or assist suicide?"

In the face of such straightforward accusation, John feels almost ashamed. "No. I did say that, but I know better now. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." is simply, sincerely stated.

[No tricks, no lectures, no guilt-trips, no put-on "put-'er-there-pal" hokey handshake? He might be a good influence, after all.]

Waters cocks his head, hearing something John cannot. "He's getting up."

[HE'LL gloat that I was wrong.] "Should I go?"

"Absolutely not." Waters smiles softly. "I think he needs to see this, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he turns back to the stovetop where kettle has begun to whistle, asking another question while rummaging a third cup. "How do you take your tea?"

"Strong and sweet." John replies with private pang. [Keith often said "Like you."]

Pete shuffles blearily into view, wearing only loosely-wrapped robe and snarky smirk. "Well, isn't THIS cozy?"

"It is, actually." Waters mildly opines, offering "Tea or coffee?"

Unsure what to make of familial atmosphere, Pete presses his luck. "Neither. Come back to bed."

"No. Grown-ups are talking. Go put some clothes on."

John resists urge to applaud, approving both how fondly Pete is received and also how flatly he's denied. [How's he gonna take THAT? Whose side am I on, anyway?]

Still waking up, Pete isn't quite sure what to his wondering eyes and ears doth appear. The glance exchanged between Roger and John is convivial and conspiratorial, making him feel relegated to the status of Our Boy, a role he's astonished he can (briefly, temporarily) accept.

"Yes, Mum." is uttered with mock-meekness and not-so-secret triumph as he turns to obey.


	8. Freakers Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and Nick attend John's party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Shel Silverstein. Known mostly for sweet kiddie-lit like THE GIVING TREE, he also wrote FILTHY lyrics on his own and for Dr. Hook And The Medicine Show. When composing Scene 18 of "Richard The First", fantasized that Shel was at the party Roger and Nick had vacated, and was the reason they staggered home singing dirty songs.

Greeting newest guests, John is delighted to behold Nick, albeit somewhat surprised seeing Waters at his side. "Wow, two of you? You Floyd fellows never do ANYTHING social together."

"We were all invited..." Waters deadpans "...but the OTHER two are at home doing something more intimate together."

[Pete said 'He always tells the truth.' could he really mean...?] "Well, good for Rick." John returns unabashed declaration "Dave's a step up from Syd."

"Yuck." is Nick's terse opinion "If you freaks are gonna talk about THAT, I'm gonna go ahead and mingle. Catch you in a bit, Ox."

"Yeah, see you." Closing the door, John watches Nick disappear into happy houseful, leaving him alone with Waters to awkwardly offer "Pete's out of town. He's not coming."

"This is YOUR party, not his, but if you don't want me here, I'll leave."

[Damn, he's so fucking frosty. Roger won't appreciate seeing him, but...] "Never said that." John smiles cautiously "I HAVE always wanted to see what you're like with a buzz on. C'mon, let's get you a drink."

"Lead the way." Waters encourages, echoing while following "I HAVE always wanted to see the inside of your much-vaunted domicile. Nick tells me you collect antique weapons."

"Modern ones, too, but those are all in the basement right now. Firearms and alcohol don't mix." This is John's first attempt to throw a party since Keith's death, and he'd been glad Pete had other plans, but now he's under scathing scrutiny anyway. [At least THIS Big Brain plays straight.]

Snagging a Heineken from tub of ice, Waters drinks deeply before inquiring "Is Eric here yet?"

"Clapton AND Idle." John proudly proclaims "Somewhere..."

"Idle?" Craggy features light up in something almost starstruck. "I've never met him. You move in rarified air, Sir."

John's far from sober, uninhibited enough to press point. "You've only ever called me 'Sir', 'man' or 'fellow'. Pete says you call me 'The Quiet One'...which I don't exactly mind, since I WROTE that fucking song, but why won't you say my name?"

Rapid double-blink precedes response as Waters finishes off his beer and grabs another. "I don't know what name you prefer. Is 'Ox' an honorific or a familiarity?"

"Both, I guess." John allows [Might be in over my head, here...]

"Names have power." Waters lectures "I don't use ANYBODY's very often when speaking directly to them, for doing so repeatedly is a Thought Control trick employed by cops and shrinks to make idiots feel acknowledged or to calm down maniacs. You don't strike me as a man who needs either."

[Assumed avoiding my name was dismissive, but turns out he sees things differently.] "I get why Pete wants you around." John grins "You might be smarter than he is."

Waters buffs fingernails pompously against shirtfront, returning sincere smile "That may be the highest praise I've ever earned. I'm going to TELL him you said so." Head cocks alertly and eagle eyes flick in recognition of wafting piano chords, excitedly exclaiming "SHEL! Didn't know you knew THAT crazy bastard!"

"Backatcha..." John mutters, but Waters has departed in beeline toward madcap American poet holding court around baby grand. Not a moment too soon, for here comes Roger...

"What's HE doing here?" Daltrey demands "Pete's not coming."

"Already told him that." John jerks head at fading figure "He knows a lot of other people here, Rog, and I DID invite the whole band."

"Thought we didn't LIKE him." Roger pouts.

"He's all right."

"KEITH didn't like him, either."

"That's a low blow, Rog." [Am I using his name to acknowledge an idiot or calm a maniac?] "Give him a chance."

"I WON'T." is stubbornly sulked "He'll try taking over the piano now, and I'm NOT gonna sing if HE's playing."

*****

"All the fags and the dykes, they're boogyin' to-geth-AH! The leather freaks are dressed in all kinds-a leath-AH! The greatest of the sadists and the masochists, too, screamin' please hit ME, an' I'll hit YOU!"

Distinct tone of private line pulls John away from delightful duet of Waters and Silverstein. [He's a FUN drunk...who knew?] It's either his mother, his wife or Pete, the only three folk in possession that number who aren't already HERE. 

"H'lo?"

"The effa-bee-eye is dancin' with the junkies! All the straights are swingin' with the funkies! Across the floor, and up the wall, we're freakin' at The Freaker's Ball...Y'ALL!"

"ROGER is there?" Pete's voice slices cleanly, stone-cold sober. "I've NEVER heard him sing like that. Is he drunk?"

"ROGER left a while ago." John inebriatedly intones "WATERS is havin' fun, though. Wish you were here."

"White ones, black ones, yellow ones, red ones! Necrophiliacs lookin' for dead ones!"

"Keep him there...and having fun." Pete commands "I'm on my way."

John slurs "I'm notchyer pimp. It's my party..." he giggles, attempting to affect falsetto, maudlin, missing Moonie " an' I'll cry if I want to."

Waters seems to loom out of nowhere before John even noticed he'd stopped singing, suddenly standing silently beside as Pete hangs up on him.

"How much time do I have?" 

"Yer fuckin' spooky, y'know?" John tells him, replacing reciever.

"So I've been told. If He's coming, I shouldn't stay."

"Y'don' wanna see him? He wants to see YOU."

"Thanks for telling me, and for having me, but I've had a few too many to withstand Him. I'm sure YOU know how that can be."

"Prolly not like YOU do, but, yeah..." John accepts as Nick staggers out of surrounding shadows.

"Roger, if you're leaving I'm going with you. Uncle Shel's women are DANGEROUS!" He turns toward John, just now seeing him there. "Sorry Ox, but this party's too much."

[Keith would've approved.] "Okay, then. See y'round. Be safe out there."

*****

"You let him LEAVE?" Pete furiously demands, eyeballing half-clad revellers. "After I paid a driver for suicidal speed?"

"M'not inna business of taking hostages." John scoffs "He WANTED to leave before you got here. D'joo havva fight or sumfin?"

"No..." Pete tries to puzzle Roger's departure "Who was he with?"

"Nick." 

"Was he drinking?"

"And HOW!" chortles John.

[Oh, THAT's why...didn't want me to see him inebriated. Tempted to crash into HIS place, but never been invited there. Fine, I'll get him drunk on my own sometime soon. Since I'm here now, might as well enjoy myself.] "Hey SHEL!" Pete calls toward rollicking tunesmith still tickling the black and the white. "Let's do 'Polly In A Porny'!"


End file.
